


#20 - Apollo

by angelsandbrowncoats



Series: Eurovision 2017 Fanfic Challenge [24]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Mentioned Character Death, mentioned suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 08:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10986861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: When Grantaire has a nightmare, he decides to go to a cafe at 3 am, where he happens upon the most interesting person.





	#20 - Apollo

**Author's Note:**

> I knew I had to from the moment I saw the song title.

Grantaire woke from the nightmare soaked in sweat and shaking. What had it been about? He remembered warm flesh (doesn't really sound like a nightmare, he thought) and then searing pain. Had he collapsed?

Maybe that was just a translation of the real world, he guessed, taking in his position on the floor. He must have fallen out of bed and the fall had worked its way into his dream. It had been a _long_ time since he'd last fallen in his sleep. What had happened? He seemed to recall reading that a person woke up if they died in their dream. Maybe dream!Grantaire was dead. Huh.

The mental image of a gun to his temple flashed before him and he pounded his fist against his arm. It had been over a year since he'd been actually suicidal, but he wasn't sure the after-effects would ever truly leave.

You know what he needed? Coffee. Coffee made everything better. With a groan, he dragged himself off the floor (oh great, he was going to get bruises) and grabbed the nearest shirt that didn't stink. He pulled it on, ignoring the paint splattered across it, and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to pretend like he cared how it looked (he did care, actually, he cared very much that it looked like he didn't care).

His studio apartment had one major benefit: it was hard to lose things. Grabbing the key for his bike lock and slipping on a pair of shoes that he hadn't bothered to untie the night before, Grantaire left his place. He lived on the ground floor, it being the cheapest floor in the dilapidated apartment building (i.e. worst view and most likely to be burgled). Still, it meant no stairs, which he supposed was a plus. Not like he had anything of value to a burglar (maybe his paintings, but he still didn't believe those were _really_ worth stealing) anyway.

The coffee shop two blocks from his apartment stayed open 24/7, a fact for which he was deeply grateful. Going for coffee at three a.m. like he was right now was not necessarily a rare occurrence for him. In fact, he quite enjoyed the three a.m. crowds. They had character.

He pushed open the door, ignoring the slightly screechy bell in favor of waving to the barista and nodding when she asked, "The usual?"

He made to establish himself at the corner table, where he preferred to sit in order to better people watch, only to find a man worthy of a marble statue already occupying it. More than that, Apollo was staring _directly_ at him.

Figuring, "Fuck it, not like anyone you meet at a cafe at 3 is gonna care what you say," Grantaire walked over to him with the intention of asking, "You got a problem?" or "Do you see something you like?" (Okay, so he hadn't quite decided whether he wanted to flirt with this guy or punch him)

Unfortunately, what came out of his mouth was, "Do you see a problem?"

"Excuse me?" wow was this guy's voice androgynous. Come to think of it, Grantaire had to double check to make sure he really was a dude. Maybe he should ask, just in case. It's what Jehan would have done.

"Sorry, that came out wrong. I'm Grantaire, but most people call me R."

"Heh. Funny," they deadpanned, "Enjolras. Are you a three a.m. regular or just a regular?"

"Both. But I've never seen you before. I would have remembered," okay, flirt it was.

Enjolras didn't even notice. He simply nodded, "I'm doing a sociology project."

"Doesn't telling me that bias your data?"

"No, since all I'm doing is documenting observations of the people who walk through the door. I've been here since midnight. What the people do once they're in the cafe is none of my concern, although I do find it interesting."

"Yeah, I love people watching here. So what'd you write about me?"

"None of _your_ concern."

"Alright, alright," he held up his hands, "I'm all for fighting but I'm not really in the mood right now."

Enjolras gave him a weird look but said nothing. Grantaire retrieved his coffee, returning to the seat opposite him. He scowled, "Please don't try to converse with me. I can't have any distractions."

"I don't have to be a distraction. I could help. I bet I even know half the people who come in here. Isn't factual information better than speculation?"

"...I suppose."

"Well, what do you want to know about the early morning customers?"

"Appearance, which I can cover on my own well enough, as well as anything I can discover as to their personalities, professions, and reasons for being here at this time."

"Okay, I'll start with me. Hi, I'm _Grantaire_ ," he says in the circle therapy voice, "I'm an _actual_ Cynic. Diogenes is my boy. The world is shit and trying to change it will just cause us to suffer so we might as well enjoy the shitiness. I'm a plucked chicken. That sort of thing. I'm a genuine, Grade A, starving artist. I also help out at a friend's mechanic shop from time to time, but mostly I paint. And I'm here because I had a rather startling nightmare that I am like 80% sure involved my death."

"Wow," Enjolras blinked at him, "You are... quite the character."

"I find anyone getting coffee at three in the morning is. It's kind of why I'm here. What about you?"

"Me? What is there to say, really? I'm a Poli Sci major at the local university, with a minor in Sociology. I plan to reorganize the system from within. Currently, I don't have a job, unless you count running one of the student papers and a political activism club. I'm here for my project, as prior established."

"And you said 'wow' about me. Damn, man, I bet you're one of those crazy _motivated_ people. I bet you have bamboo in your dorm."

"Why would that matter?"

"You _do_ don't you? Oh my god, you're a 'better living' person. You're not even drinking coffee. That's green tea. Oh my god."

"It's jasmine tea, to be precise."

_"Oh my god."_

"What?"

"Look, Enj, dude," Grantaire reached across the table to grab his hand in order to drive his point home, "You're a _hipster_ , aren't you?"

Only, he never got an answer to that question, because the moment his hand touched Enjolras', his dream slammed back into his mind in full clarity. But it wasn't just a dream: it was a full lifetime of memories. Images of early 19th century France danced before his eyes.

" _R_?" the man beside him breathed, disbelief and recognition coloring his voice.

"Do you see it, too?"

"Yes. Oh God, R, what have I done?"

Grantaire held his hand even tighter, "It's not your fault, Enj. They all wanted to be there as much as you did. You warned people that they might die, that they should leave, and they all chose to stay."

"I know," Enjolras said, "I wasn't referring to that. _You_ , R, what did I do to _you_?"

"What do you mean?"

"You loved me. I saw it, finally, at the end. How did I miss it for so long?"

Grantaire froze, unsure what to say or do next. Should he release the other man's hands? Was it weird?

"I know this is another life, and you're probably a very different man now, but... I returned your feelings and I think I still do."

Well. That was unexpected. Shocking, even.

"Enjolras, I would follow you anywhere. I followed you to death. I followed you _beyond_ death, somehow. You really think my feelings have changed that much?"

In that moment, the two of them were all that mattered. There would be time for bringing their friends back together later. For now, all either of them knew was that secret which had once been revealed only in death. The road ahead would not be smooth - that was impossible with the two of them - but after nearly two-hundred years, they would have a chance. A chance to listen to each other for once. A chance to build on each other's talents. A chance to grow, together.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little disappointed in the ending but I either had to cut it off here or write another 10,000 words and I had to write 43 stories in 2 weeks for this challenge so I wasn't about to do the latter


End file.
